


warmth like a drug

by teaDragon



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Pre-Arrangement (Good Omens), Tiny bit of Angst, and a surprise guest appearance, crowley vs snake brain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 22:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaDragon/pseuds/teaDragon
Summary: Rumors of a strange creature haunting a mountain town send Aziraphale up into the snowy peaks to investigate. A poorly timed snowstorm forces him to take shelter in a cave, and the angel quickly realizes that someone has followed him up. Trapped in a cave together and with the temperature dropping rapidly, they'll have to stay close if they want to get through the night...





	warmth like a drug

**Author's Note:**

> uploaded from my tumblr with some edits

Snow fell in endless waves from heavy grey clouds, stretched overhead as far as the eye could see. Wind whistled bleakly through the jagged hulks of rock that dotted the mountain path, blowing from every which way in fits and turns, getting snow and cold under any number of clothes that were made to keep it out.

This wasn’t the soft, fluffy snow Aziraphale had become accustom to further south. Oh no. This was a wild, mountainous cousin. The sort that wasn’t talked about in polite company. The kind that didn’t get invited to family get-togethers on account being likely to eat someone at the table. It was relentless. 

Each hazardous footstep the angel took punctured through a brittle layer of frozen ice before plunging down into the heavy, sticky snow underneath. It was packing snow, the sort perfect for making shelters and snow people, the sort that clung to the bottom of your boot and _crunched_ with each laborious step. 

He’d had the foresight to acquire proper gear before beginning his trek, and for all the ice and wind was finding its way down to his skin, the thick leathers and yak hide were far better protection than his fine linens and silks would have been. 

It was on Heavenly business that Aziraphale had found himself in this extremely cold and uncomfortable business. There had been rumors. A strange, monstrous creature coming down from the frozen mountains and terrorizing the nearby villages. There were whispers of glowing eyes, fangs as long as an arm, huge prints in the snow, cattle snatched in the night. That sort of thing. 

Aziraphale personally thought it was unlikely to be little more than a bear, but Divine Management had been on his case to take a more active role against the Wiles of the Adversary, so he had decided to do his due diligence and make a note of his dedication in his next report.

A vicious gust of wind sent a handful of icy flakes down the back of his neck. He shivered, breath misting out in front of him.

He’d flown most of the way up, but then the storm had hit and rendered him land bound. Flying blindly through one of the highest mountain ranges the earth had to offer during a snowstorm was just asking for a discorporation. 

The angel ducked his head as the wind changed directions wildly, whistling and moaning, pure white all around. Shutting his eyes, he cast out his aura, feeling around for anything unusual, anything occult or ethereal enough to warrant an attempt at thwarting on his part.

Snow buffeted his efforts on all sides. Everything came back patchy.

Bugger.

Up ahead a dark blotch caught his eye. A cave. He made for it, pushing his aching body harder against the strain of the snow and gritting his teeth against a sudden flurry of powdery snow cascading down from a high ridge above.

Reaching the opening, he ducked inside, shuddering in relief as the howling wind cut off. Wearily he cast his aura about, searching for any nasty lurking surprises tucked away deeper inside or behind an unsuspecting crack. He was alone. 

He let out a long sigh, slumping over, hands on knees as he caught his breath. After a time he sat, and sufficiently recovered miracled a fire into existence. It was a small thing, but it was warm and cheered him greatly. The angel settled down with his back to the cave wall. Outside the storm carried on, a howling wave of white, muffled now by the rock. 

Aziraphale wrapped his furs tighter about him, wishing for a mug of tea and something to nibble on, and resigned himself to waiting out the storm.

* ^ *

Time passed. A new sound began to filter in over the whistling wind and the merry crackle of the fire, a rhythmic _crunch, crunch, crunch_. Like footsteps, his mind supplied, sluggish from the cold and lulled by the fire.

A figure appeared at the mouth of the cave, peering in. 

Aziraphale stared for a long, slow moment before his mind caught up with him, and he staggered upright, adrenaline rushing through him in a dizzying rush.

“Who's there?” he demanded, startled.

Whoever it was took it as invitation to step inside fully, out of the blinding white of the storm and into his little shelter.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale stared. Familiar yellow eyes met his own.

“_Crowley?_ Is that you?”

It was. The demon towards the fire. “Wish it wasn’t,” Crowley muttered, brushing snow off his clothes.

The angel’s breath left him in a relieved rush. For a moment he’d been afraid it was someone _dangerous_. “What on earth are you doing here?” he asked. “And in the middle of this storm?”

“Could ask you the same.” Crowley came to an unsteady halt, looking longingly at the fire. “You mind?”

“Please.” Aziraphale gestured at the fire. “You certainly look as if you need it, dear fellow.” The demon immediately sank to the ground in a hunched pile of awkward limbs. He shuffled greedily towards the fire, utterly transfixed on the blaze like a moth to a, well, a flame. 

“Er,” said Aziraphale after a long minute. He stopped. 

Crowley was leaning into the fire, dangerously close. If he wasn’t a demon, and wasn’t half-caked in snow Aziraphale may have pulled him back from it. Something dropped from the demon’s head. He realized ice had frozen to his hair in clumps and was beginning to melt, dripping to the cave floor below.

The angel floundered, suddenly unsure.

While Crowley was a demon and therefore The Enemy, he wasn’t exactly _Aziraphale’s_ enemy. Not exactly. At least, not with any real malice. They’d crossed paths in the millennium or so since that whole debacle with the garden, certainly. They’d been caught at odds, working as they were for different sides. But Crowley had never shown any inclination to violence*, and Aziraphale was all too happy to keep it that way.

*Not even towards humans. From what heaven liked to say about demons, Aziraphale shouldn’t have been surprised to find Crowley in the act of devouring an entire village just for fun, and yet—and yet. He knew somehow, deep down, that Crowley would be just as likely to do such a terrible thing as he would be to invite Gabriel for tea. It simply wasn’t in his nature.

It didn’t exactly make Crowley a friend. It made him a…like-minded individual in the sense that he too enjoyed earth and was inclined to discuss disagreements over a drink and a bite to eat. Quite civil, really. Out of all the people to be stuck in a cave with, Crowley was…not the worst. Far from it. But the demon made things very confusing for poor Aziraphale, and he couldn’t tell if he truly meant what he said or if he was trying to lure him into a false sense of security and take advantage of his good will.

“Er,” he tried again. “What did bring you up here?”

Crowley looked up from the fire. He blinked slowly, drops of water caught in his long lashes. He looked very cold despite his proximity to the fire. Aziraphale directed a bit more of his will towards keeping the blaze strong and hot.

“Angels first,” said Crowley, the corner of his mouth tugging up slyly.

“I’d heard rumours,” began Aziraphale. “Some beast coming down from the mountains and terrorizing the village. Glowing eyes, missing livestock, you know. Thought I’d see if it were true.”

Crowley grunted, wriggling his long fingers in front of the fire. “Was it?”

Aziraphale watched him closely. “That’s what I’d like to ask you.”

“Ah. One of _ours_, is that what you’re thinking?” Golden eyes met his own.

“Should I be?” countered the angel.

The demon dropped his gaze. He prodded at the fire with a stick. A blackened log shifted at his efforts, sending a flurry of sparks into the air, fizzing out like little stars. “Find anything?” he asked.

“No. Not in this.” Aziraphale jerked his head towards the mouth of the cave. “Crowley, why are you here?”

Crowley shrugged. His clothes were damp and sodden from the melted snow, his wet hair clinging to his forehead. “Was in the area,” he said offhandedly. “Heard rumours. Someone mentioned a particularly stupid stranger headed off for the mountains this afternoon, alone, right before the storm was about to hit.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale shifted guiltily. Oh dear. “So…naturally you did the same and went after them?”

“_No_.” Crowley glared. “Whatever you’re thinking—no. I’m a demon. I don’t make a habit of saving hapless humans from their own stupidity*, _really_, angel.” He poked at the fire moodily. “Thought I’d see if the beast would be lured out by a nice tasty treat, is all.”

*It wasn’t a habit. It _wasn’t_. But really, what good was a dead human when you could have a severely inconvenienced one instead? It just took the fun out of everything.

“Did you see anything?”

“Yeah.” He sniffed. “Snow. Lots and lots of snow.”

“Suppose we’ll have to wait it out. The storm, I mean.”

Crowley grunted and tugged his furs closer about him. “Yeah.” 

Night fell, the white world outside darkening into a heavy grey. What meagre warmth the hidden sun had lent the day was fading fast, the temperature dropping rapidly. Cold began to press in on them, sending icy fingers creeping inside their little sanctuary, stealing away the heat from the fire and sending shivers dancing along their skin. 

It would only get colder the longer the night stretched on, and up in the mountains the night lasted a long, long time.

Strictly speaking, angels and demons were creatures more of magic and spirit then of flesh and blood. They were not their bodies. Not in the way that humans were so deeply connected to their own.

Their fleshy corporations took wear and tear when their powers ran low, and their powers ran low when their corporations came to harm. What harm _was_, now that was more complicated. If Aziraphale stood outside in the snow and _believed_, with every fibre of his being, that it was a hot summer day and he was on a beautiful sunny beach, he could strip down to his underthings and take a leisurely nap, completely oblivious to the bitter storm blustering around him, and never suffer as much as a shiver.

Trouble was, that took an awful lot of energy and sheer force of will. As it was, Aziraphale was finding it increasingly difficult to imagine the fire was doing a decent job keeping them warm, and that his fingers and toes weren’t growing worryingly numb. 

It was something about corporations. You weren’t really meant to occupy them for any great length of time. Not consecutively. You were supposed to come down (or up) to earth, perform your task, and go back home, shedding your corporation like a coat at the end of the day and putting it on again the next morning before you went out.

The longer you spent in it, the harder it was to remember it wasn’t a part of what you really were, and the easier you’d come to harm. 

Aziraphale and Crowley had inhabited their respective corporations right from the very start, barely being out of them for longer then the odd week or so.

In situations like this, they had to be very, very careful.

* ^ *

“Thought you’d do better in this.”

Crowley blinked heavy eyes at Aziraphale, trying to focus on him. It was harder than it should have been, his whole body slow and sluggish from his too blessed long saunter in the snow.

“The cold,” the angel murmured. He looked concerned. “Aren’t you supposed to be hot?”

Crowley hissed a laugh, lacking the energy to form the witty response he’d like to give that. “’Sss not all fire ‘n brimssstone.” He huddled further into himself, trying in vain to conserve heat. The fire wasn’t helping as much as it should have been. He forced his numb lips to form words. “M’ cold blooded.”

The angel frowned. “Cold…?”

“Ssssserpent, ‘member? Th’ bit with th’ apple n’ all.” 

Aziraphale’s lips formed an ‘o’ in comprehension. “You’re really cold blooded.”

He settled for a jerky nod. The cold was starting to dangerously muddle his thoughts, weighing down his body and tempting him to _just give in and lay down on the ground, take a little nap and it will all go away... _

That way was an express route to the infernal discorporations office. No thank you.

Struggling to stay awake, he found himself staring at the angel across the fire, eyes tracing greedily over his round frame and fur-lined cloak. He looked cold and uncomfortable, but nowhere near as frozen as Crowley felt.

_Maybe he would sssssshare ssssssome of that heat?_ asked a treacherous voice in the back of his head. 

_Shut up!_ Crowley hissed back.

But now that he’d thought it, it was hard to think of much else.

He stared at Aziraphale hungrily. His furs looked so very soft. So did his pudgy middle and messy curls. Bless it all, _everything_ about the angel was soft, from his full, rounded cheeks, right down to fur of his boots, he was soft. Everything had always been soft about Aziraphale. This wasn’t new news. This was old news. Old news that had suddenly become new and breaking with the sheer intensity that Crowley’s coldblooded serpent hind-mind looked across at the angel and saw SOFT and WARM and HEAT.

Crowley the Serpent flicked out his tongue. _What would it feel like to curl up againssssst him, wrap around that wide, plusssssh body, sssslither under hissss fursss ssssearchign out his ssssskin. SSSSKIN. SSSSOFT WARM SSSSKIN. HEAT. SSSSSOFT blesssssed HEAT-_

_No_, said Crowley the Demon furiously. _Absolutely not!_

But it was no good. 

Right from the first time he’d ever touched Aziraphale, way back at the very Beginning, the first brush of scales against skin at the Eastern Gate had brought every thought in his head to a crushing halt, only leaving WARM in its wake. Warmth had always rolled off the angel in waves, something in his very aura sending it out in waves like a divine siren. Everything about him screamed out things any demon should be appalled by, things like _soft_ and _warm_ and _comfortable_ and _safe_*.

*_Friend_ was another far more treacherous word that popped into his head when he looked at Aziraphale. It stuck, no matter how he tried to shake it.

It was disgusting. 

It was intoxicating.

What made it worse, was that Crowley was finding it increasingly difficult to think of anything else, to come up with reasons why he _shouldn’t_ crawl over there and burrow into the angel’s side like some pathetic pet, desperate for attention.

Maybe he wouldn’t notice?

_Warm_, hissed the serpent.

_Aziraphale is the Enemy_, screamed the rational demonic side of Crowley’s brain. _Demons don’t cuddle! Especially not with angels!_

_Now that’s not really fair_, said the Crowley part of Crowley. That part that had changed his own name and got emotional over whales. _This isn’t just any old angel, it’s Aziraphale we’re talking about._

All the Crowley’s could begrudgingly agree with that.

Aziraphale had never done him physical harm. In fact he’d never done _anything_ more hostile then frown and suggest Crowley ought to be getting along so he could get some work done.

That was it.

Ok, there had been a bit of glaring. Some unkind mutterings. He’d crossed his arms and huffed. A finger had been wagged at him a time or two. He’d even made little shooing motions with his hands, as if that would ward him off.

But that was _it._

_There issssn’t any harm in a bit of contact_, said the not insignificant part of his brain that was literally freezing to death. 

_Jusssssst a little…_

_Jusssssst this once…_

Crowley felt himself waver.

_No one needsssss to know…_

His tongue flicked out, snakelike, tasting the angel’s tantalizing aura on the air. 

_It will be our little ssssecret..._

It was so, bloody, blessedly _cold_. And the angel was shivering too, bugger it all!

That settled it.

Aziraphale startled as Crowley shuffled over, dropping down beside him gracelessly. The demon drew his fur-lined coat closer, trying to lean into his side nonchalantly, as if he weren’t shaking all over and desperate for warmth.

“Ssss…ssss..sss…doessssn’t mean anythin’,” he managed, teeth clattering. “Sssss jusssst damn blessssssed cold.”

Tomorrow, he promised himself, tomorrow he’d spin the angel some properly demonic reason for this indignity. Right now he was hard pressed to think of anything other than _coldcoldcoldangelWARMSOFTSAFE._

“Y-yes,” managed Aziraphale after a long moment. “Perhaps you’re right. Sharing h-heat is only reasonable. Under the c-circumstances.”

“’Ssss…ssss righ’.” Giving into a particularly violent shiver, Crowley buried his head into the soft hide of Aziraphale’s arm, blessing in relief as warmth seeped into him. It wasn’t enough. He wanted _more._ “Ssss what th’ humanssssss do.”

“’Course.”

Aziraphale shifted. Crowley nearly cried out as that wonderful heat pulled away. His pride was already shot to bits. Desperation took hold. He moved blindly to chase after that _WARMSOFTSAFE_, but then it was back—oh, it was back and even _better_ then it was before.

Distantly, over the pleased purring and hissing of his serpent hind-mind, he noted that the angel had slung his arms around him, pulling him in close. 

This. 

This was bliss. 

This was pure, unmitigated _bliss_ and he never ever wanted to leave.

This was the heaven humans believed in*. 

*Not the real heaven. The real heaven felt like it was designed by the kind of primary school principal who holds mandatory assemblies every month to promote Positive Personality Traits like ‘perseverance’ and ‘honesty’, putting on nauseating skits that insult everyone’s intelligence, all the while the students sit on the hard gym floor in rows, watching in blank despair as their legs and bottoms slowly loose circulation. That was more like the real heaven. At least, heaven as Crowley remembered it, and the heaven Aziraphale complained about when he was well into his cups.

Shamelessly he nuzzled closer, mindless in his attempt to escape the bitter chill. He clung fiercely to any bit of the angel he could grasp, wrapping himself as snakelike as he could, anything to get closer to the wonderful, beautiful heat. Hands rubbed up and down his back, sending trails of warmth dancing in their wake, burning against his skin. Slowly his shivering lessened, his blood warming again in his veins, muscles releasing their death-like rigidity.

Crowley relaxed into the feeling, the crackle of the fire and the distant howling of the wind lulling him into an exhausted sleep, warmer and safer then he could ever remember feeling.

* ^ *

Outside the storm raged on, snow falling in great heavy sheets, burying everything under a frozen blanket of white.

Someone else made their way up the mountain path. Later she would be called ‘Michê’, and ‘Kang-Admi’ and eventually ‘Yeti’ in the centuries and millennia to come, but for now she simply was herself. 

The strange light intrigued her. She peered into the little cave curiously, trying to find its source.

Inside was a small red glow (_hot_ and _bad_), one of the odd hairless creatures in front of it. It was half sitting against the wall, eyes closed and head slumped in sleep. In its arms was another hairless creature, held close and nearly hidden by the huge wings protruding from the first one’s back. The wings were large and furry like an owl’s, wrapped protectively around both of them.

Giving a great sniff, she decided to leave them be. They didn’t smell like food. Lumbering off into the snow, her thoughts went to her mate and her kits and the crawling furry creature she had brought back for them all to eat. She quickly forgot all about the glow and the cave.

In the morning Crowley would wake up, stiff and sore, to find the sky had cleared and the storm had passed. He’d gingerly climb out from the angel’s embrace, embarrassment and something dangerously warm coursing through his chest at the sight of the still-sleeping Aziraphale, wings half-folded and rumpled, achingly vulnerable in the morning light. Crowley would be very careful not to wake him. He would build up the fire and miracle up a generous breakfast of sausages and fried potatoes. 

And then Crowley would high-tail it out of there before the smell could wake Aziraphale, flying back down to the village as if all the hounds of hell were after him, unable to face the angel in the light of day. 

The memory of that night was something he would treasure for a long, long time, along with a single downy feather he’d tucked deep in his furs.

Aziraphale would wake up to an empty cave and a hot breakfast, his own cloak tucked around him. The sight of his favourite tea gently steaming in a sturdy mug would warm his heart so much all the snow within ten feet of him would melt instantaneously. 

But that was later. For now, an angel and a demon slept, curled protectively around each other, warding off the bitter cold together.


End file.
